For the 38 year-old set, however, it's far less appropriate. In male parents, selective memoritis often manifests as an abdication of responsibility, especially when it comes to uncomplicated parental to-dos like grooming, dressing, and feeding the kids. This explains why, under my charge, my children are still in pajamas at 11:15 am with the sun blazing cheerfully outside, discussing breakfast options – including soda – less than an hour from lunchtime. In essence, there are four kids in the house. I'm just a little taller, drive a car, and can pronounce "mortgage."

Several soggy bowls of Cheerios later, I ask Mylie to remind me whose turn is it to pick our weekly lunch spot. "It's MY turn," Mylie says with supreme confidence, just as she did last Dadurday and the Dadurday before that. She's perhaps the most symptomatic of all three kids.

Watching my kids go through their self-propelled maneuvering, I'm suddenly struck by their instant maturity. Like me, they can easily toggle from lazy lollygagging to sophisticated expressions and interactions. I wasn't giving them enough credit. While the IRS considers them mere "dependents" and "children" – both implying simple extensions of a parent – it's clear that they've also become independent, free-thinking kids. The transformation, to me anyway, is no less awesome than that of amphibians first climbing out of the pond and crawling toward the nearest TiVo player. And it all occurred the way a clock's minute-hand travels -- imperceptively, but absolutely.

"Dad, can we go now?" Evan says.

I blink. The TV is off and they're looking at me with expectant eyes. They're ready to evolve – or at least have lunch.

We suit up and hit Evan's favorite Chinese restaurant for fried tofu and spring rolls. Like every Dadurday at the Chinese restaurant, we charm the waiter, play with the chopsticks, and form duck sauce dipping mounds. Mylie collects everyone's silverware, Josie plays with her ice, and Evan reads insignificant parts of the menu. We eat like peasants at the feast, and the girls delight at the crunchy fate-filled cookies that come in a little bamboo tray with the check.

All in all it's a pretty unremarkable Dadurday lunch.

"This is the BEST Lazy Dadurday EVER!" Mylie says with absolute certainty and a greasy grin. The other two cheer in agreement, waving forks of sticky rice.

I look into their shiny faces and affirm the absurd moment of memoritis as if it came from the King of Siam himself. "This is indeed the Best Dadurday ever," I pronounce, letting Mylie sip more of my Diet Pepsi.

We take a minute more to enjoy our sophisticated selves, then messily crack open our newly-arrived fortunes.

My full bio: wwwjesttokill.com

Joel Schwartzberg